#studying inlet

[togrowoldinv]

The Sweetest Con

Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

When you are put in charge of the volleyball team, you have a very interesting set of interactions with a mother at the church

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, fingering, etc.

Note: Milf Wanda hehe. This is inspired by Lizzie in the Love and Death trailer. Enjoy!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

When you were asked to spearhead the volleyball league, you accepted immediately. You’d been looking for a way to get more involved and volleyball was the perfect inlet.

The first few practices went well. You had a good amount of players, but there was one player in particular that caught your eye.

Wanda Maximoff. The gorgeous woman is an absolute born athlete. She’s captivating as she makes perfect passes and hits like she’s been doing it her whole life.

After practice today, you decide to ask Wanda to stay afterwards.

“What’s up, coach?” She says the last word with a silly grin on her face.

“I’m assuming you grew up playing ball,” you say.

She nods. “I played at the middle and high school’s here, yes.”

“Me too. I’m surprised coach never talked about you.”

“Oh, well I am a bit older than you, honey,” Wanda says. The term makes your heart skip a beat.

“Right, yeah,” you agree, feeling a little flustered as you watch her take a drink of water.

You should not be watching the way her neck looks as she sips the water.

“I have to be getting home to my kids. I’ll see you next week?” Wanda asks.

“See you next week, Wanda.”

You watch as the woman walks away. Her shorts hug her just right and you internally scold yourself for checking her out in a church. And you’re pretty sure she’s married.

The next week does nothing to ease your crush. One of the players can’t make it, so you sub in and scrimmage with the team.

Wanda remains the captain of the A team and you let her do her thing.

It’s down to set point when you and Wanda both go for a ball. You both dive onto the floor and collide with each other. Wanda ends up underneath you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Wanda,” you tell her. Her arms are pinned to her side and your entire lower bodies are touching. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says with a chuckle. Her eyes seemingly glance to where your breasts rest over her.

You stand up and hold a hand out for her to take. She takes it and you lift her off the ground. Wanda smiles at you before she returns to her position.

Your team wins the scrimmage and everyone cheers.

Wanda calls after you before you can leave the gym. “I’m having everyone over to my house if you want to come,” she tells you. “It’s a Bible study slash team get together.”

You’re proud of the way the team is bonding.

“I’m there,” you tell her. “I just need to get changed.”

“Alrighty. It’s casual,” she says. “We’ll see you there.”

You go home and get ready for Wanda’s get together. Thinking about her calling it casual, you slip on some pants and a button up shirt. Maybe you leave one extra button than you should undone.

When you get to Wanda’s house, there are people in the yard throwing a football around and you notice her husband grilling.

“Y/n, glad you made it!” Another player, Monica, greets you.

“Hey y’all,” you greet everyone.

You walk inside to greet everyone else and that’s when you see Wanda in the kitchen. She’s hard at work, but when she sees you she stops in her tracks.

“Hey Wanda,” you say. Her eyes fall directly to the open buttons of your shirt.

“Nice to see you,” she comes back to reality to say.

“Do you need any help?”

“You can help Natasha grab the ice,” Wanda says. You nod.

You see the redhead waiting by the door for you to join her. Natasha leads you outside and you two spark up a conversation.

You like Natasha. She’s not like the other stuffy church members and you’re pretty sure she’s dating her friend Maria.

For most of the evening, Wanda is running around and doing her host duties. Before you leave though, you decide to go find her and say your thanks for the invite.

You find her inside tucking her sons in. Respecting her space, you stand in the hallway a few steps from the bedroom. But Wanda knows you’re there.

She kisses her boys goodnight and comes into the hallway.

“Hey, sorry I just wanted to say thank you for the invite,” you say quietly.

She takes your hand and pulls you into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Wanda sits on the edge of her bed and invites you to join her. You sit a respectable distance away from her.

“I’m glad you came,” Wanda says.

“Of course, yeah. I wish we could’ve talked more tonight,” you admit.

“Me too, y/n. I’d really like to get to know you better.”

She looks you over again and you feel a chill up and down your spine. Wanda scoots a little closer. Your eyes glance down to her lips.

“I’ll see you next week, Wanda,” you break the silence, knowing this is nothing but a bad idea.

“Yeah, okay,” Wanda says, a slight pout to her voice.

You leave her there in the bedroom and go back home. For the entirety of the next week, you think about how Wanda seemed disappointed that you ended that moment at the get together.

Wanda shows up early for practice this week. You’re sitting in your makeshift office when Wanda comes through the gym doors.

“Hey, I’m in here,” you call out to her.

“Hey, I was just going to hit the ball around a bit before practice.” She stands at your office door.

“Okay, great,” you say. But she doesn’t move. “Is everything okay, Wanda?”

“Yes,” Wanda says, but then she steps in and shuts the door behind her. “No.”

“No? If this is something with the team, we can talk about-“

“It’s something with you, actually,” Wanda says.

“Oh.”

Wanda walks to your side of the desk and leans against it. You look up at her from your chair. Her legs threaten to cloud your mind completely as they flex against the desk.

“Do you like me?” Wanda asks, her lips are turned into a pout.

“Of course I like you, Wanda,” you say nervously. “We’re friends.”

“No, not like that,” she says.

“Like what then?”

“Forget it,” Wanda mumbles.

She tries to leave, but you stand up and grab her hand. Turning her around, you pull her close but stop inches from her lips.

“Tell me you want this,” you say to her.

“I want this so bad,” Wanda says. “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you.”

You take her face in your hands and kiss her soft lips. Her hands pull you closer with one on your hip and one on your neck.

Wanda turns her head to deepen the kiss and you allow her to take control. She kisses you until you’re both breathless.

“Fuck, I’ve never done that before,” Wanda says.

“Kissed a woman?” You ask. She hums in agreement and kisses you again. “So you definitely haven’t been fucked by a woman?”

“No,” she says against your lips.

“And you’d like to?”

“God yes,” Wanda says.

You smirk against her lips and move your hands under her shirt. She gasps as you take the material over her head. You kiss her neck and she moans when you bite her softly.

“Harder,” she says.

You take her instructions and bite her harder as you slip your hands down her stomach to her waistband. Slipping off her shorts, you admire her lacy panties.

“Fuck Wanda, you’re not such an innocent church girl are you?” You say. Her knees buckle, but you hold her up.

“Please fuck me,” Wanda says.

You slip off her sports bra and her panties. When your lips go to her nipples, you can tell she hasn’t felt this sensation before.

“Oh god,” Wanda moans out as your tongue circles her nipples.

You slip your hand down to her center to be met with her wet folds.

“All of this is for me?” You ask her.

“Yes, honey, yes,” Wanda says.

“You’re so wet, Wanda. Does fucking me here turn you on that much?”

Wanda nods and her eyes close in pleasure as you slip your finger into her.

“Fuck you take it so well, Wanda.”

Her head falls onto your shoulder as you add a couple more fingers and slip in and out just as she needs.

“God, this feels so good,” Wanda moans against you. She lifts her head to look you in the eyes. Her mouth is parted slightly and you kiss her perfect lips.

“Come for me, Wanda,” you tell her. She keeps the eye contact as her hips shake and she lets out the prettiest moans you’ve ever heard. “Good girl.”

It’s quiet as Wanda comes down from her high. You kiss her neck and cheeks as her breathing resumes.

“You gotta get dressed, babe,” you tell her, noticing the time.

“But you didn’t-“

“We can finish this later,” you say. You hold her cheeks in your hand and admire the way she’s so flushed. “We have to practice right now.”

“I wanted to make you feel this good,” Wanda says. “Or at least try.” She adds shyly.

“Oh you could definitely make me feel good, Wanda. You already have,” you tell her. She smiles. “But I’m perfectly fine with pleasing you first.”

“Oh, okay,” she says. You can tell she’s not been told that before.

You kiss her deeply and she chases after your lips even once you’ve pulled away. Reluctantly, she gets dressed. But before she leaves your office, you pull her in for a hug and kiss her forehead.

“Do you have plans after practice?” You ask her.

“I do now,” Wanda says with a smirk.

She takes the initiative to kiss you this time before she straightens her shirt and walks out of your office.

Wanda Maximoff is definitely your standout player and the woman you can’t help but be captivated by.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fluff #milf!wanda #Elizabeth Olsen

[nico-di-genova]

Keep to the Line: Chapter 4

...Surprise KTTL update anyone?

Bahrain, to put it simply, is a disaster. For one, they lose.  

Charles thinks it all maybe started with the car launch in New York City, when Max, Checo, and Daniel had been brought out on-stage to the cheers of a predominately celebrity crowd, motorsports enthusiasts few and far between. To Charles, it was all too much of a spectacle. He maybe had been turned into a bit of snob by Ferrari, there seemed to be a lacking amount of class. Daniel made jokes as if he was delivering a stand-up routine, very little attention was given to the car.        

And it was a beautiful car. All sleek lines and raw design and truly a marvel of ingenuity. Charles was maybe a bit jealous of Newey, less so of Max who had to stand in the spotlight and pretend to care about the senseless questions they asked him. He was perfectly content to study the car from the shadows, to see the small changes to the suspension and the front wing and wonder how they would really perform come testing in Bahrain. It wasn’t his first time getting a full look at it, but it was the first in the stage lights, which revealed inlets he had missed at first glance.

In his mind, he was mentally calculating the full look of it all. How the air might flow from the wing tips to the back end. So caught up in his study that he failed to notice the attention being drawn to him until it was too late.

“-Charles. It’s exciting to have him with us,” comes Max’s voice saying his name, drawing out the ‘s’ at the end with a slight lisp that unfortunately has already become familiar to Charles.

He looks up just in time to see all three of the drivers, plus the host, turning their attention to him. Along with half the crowd and also the cameras. Max smirks at him, the bastard, seeming to delight in the way Charles blushes. He can feel it all the way to the tips of his warming ears. And then Max is walking to him, down the stairs, into the gaggle of engineers Charles had been standing with and guiding him onto the stage. His hand on Charles’ shoulder is firm under the guise of friendliness.

“Fuck you,” Charles mutters under the smile he forces, hoping Max’s mic doesn’t pick it up.

Max laughs, his eyes crinkling, as if Charles has just told the loveliest of jokes.

Read More

#...surprise shorty #does anyone even still care about this? #no #but I do #because it is my beautiful messy child who I sometimes neglect #keep to the line #lestappen #lestappen fic #my fic #kttl fic

[theplottdump]

In the week and a half of so called "freedom" that immediately followed her guardians' proposed "compromise", little Sunny had managed to set up quite the cozy home base for herself inside one of her father's old loot caves.

Chad helped her construct a rudimentary playhouse, one Val would surely scoff at (it lacked any proper door or defensive laser cannons)- while HANSEL kept a vigilant eye on the Sunflower.

Day after day she roamed about the small cave- busying herself by climbing on the few trees and poking at sea frogs in the small inlet.

And while it was a peaceful, parent approved, safe place to play- it was also 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.

After a week it dawned on her- she had essentially been corralled to the island's rough equivalent of a garage.

Sunny: 𝙐𝙂𝙃! HANSEL: Would you like me to continue the chapter from my archives Miss Sunny?

The smallest sigh escaped her mouth.

Sunny: Maybe tomorrow. HANSEL: Might I provide some focus low-fi from one of your pre-approved study playlists? Sunny: [𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥] I think I want to go home now.

HANSEL: Perhaps tomorrow we could continue to practice your fractions together? Sunny: 𝘌𝘸, no. Bad Dog. HANSEL: It was worth a try.

HANSEL: Oh I know! Maybe the frogs will respawn and you can set yourself to catching one! Sunny: But you hate frogs! HANSEL: I have come to despise them yes. They are exceedingly grotesque- and slippery. Eugh. ... Sunny: What does grotesque mean? HANSEL: Gross and Frog-like. Sunny: Mmm, I don't think that's right.

#Plott Gen 6 #Main Plott #Gen6Part5 #Sunny Plott #HANSEL #Kāne Kanaloa

[bahbahhh]

begin again

a lot of change happens in between Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. let’s fill in the gaps.

zelda pov | zelink | totk spoilers | rated T zelinkweek2023 | @zelinkcommunity

[first] [previous] [ ao3 ]

Again, another shout out to my amazing beta reader @zeldaelmo who really helped me nail the ending of this chapter.

chapter 4

for the prompt “hand-in-hand”

It has been raining for the better part of a week. Plantlife in Kakariko is thriving. Lantern Lake is swollen and clear. A small pool of flooding has begun to collect in the road between the inlet of the Goddess statue and Impa’s House. It’s far enough from the storefronts and the crops not to raise any concern, and a family of ducks has taken refuge where Cado usually stands, providing amusement for the Sheikah children. 

Paya says the rain is a blessing. Zelda has been trying to see the brighter side of things, but it feels a little too ironic to be reminding herself of that in the middle of a rainstorm. She’s trapped in one of the small stables on the border of the village. She had been taking a walk in a lighter pass of the storm, trying to scatter the anxious energy that builds up naturally when she’s surrounded by four walls for too long, when the sky suddenly started dumping rain again. She had to duck into the stable to keep from getting swept down the hill. 

She listens to the rain drumming against the roof and makes a mental note to let Paya know the thatching is in need of some repair. 

“That’s not very ‘bright side’ of me,” Zelda says to herself, scooting back from a particularly steady stream of rainwater leaking down beside her. She sets her jaw and looks out over Kakariko. The rain is so heavy, all she can make out are soggy blobs of color that resemble the houses and banners and fences she knows are there. 

Water pours down the slope from the northern entrance. Beneath the gate, shadows dance in the narrow pass between flashes of lighting, playing tricks with her eyes. She spots shadows that look like tree branches growing out of the rock, a horseless carriage, and a lone figure. 

All traffic in or out of the village has completely stopped. The clouds are angry-looking and thick, trapped by the valley so the moisture collects in the air. It’s grown so heavy, Zelda tastes it in every breath. The Sheikah say this happens from time to time. The Pillars of Levia are thought to resemble a giant hand that catches clouds foolish enough to pass overhead. The storm swirls above her, fingers of heat lightning crawling across the sky, threatening to reach for the peaks surrounding Lantern Lake. It has kept the Rito messengers away. 

Zelda squints. The last shadow she spotted in the pass, resembling a figure, has remained steady between the sheets of rain. She leans forward quickly, her heart in her throat, fingers braced against the nearly stable beam. 

Someone is approaching the village. 

The Rito wouldn’t use the pass and even though it’s muddled, she would know this outline anywhere. She studied it stubbornly one hundred years ago, and then with urgency and desperation during her stasis. She’s missed it for ten long months. 

A loud clap of thunder jolts her out of her shelter, urging her forward, and his name bursts from her lips before she can stop it.

“Link?!”

The figure stops and turns in the direction of her voice. The storm slows enough so she can see the spaces between drops of falling rain and for a heartbeat, it’s almost like they start slowly moving in reverse, back up to the clouds. Another random moment where she swears she can taste magic, where the candle inside she’s constantly searching for temporarily explodes with Light. It’s so bright, she might be able to reach it this time, but she’s not focused on finding where her magic has been hiding. She’s looking at Link.

He’s soaking wet, clothing plastered with mud, hair smeared across his face. The luminous stones behind his eyes flash in her direction, like a wild animal in the dark, and then go out completely. He slumps against the gatepost and collapses forward. In the same instant, all the rain crawling back up into the clouds bursts free of whatever strange reversing she’s set off and it all accelerates back down in real time. Zelda sprints forward, slips in the mud, twice, and has to crawl through the flash flood from the pass the rest of the way.

He’s unconscious and pale. She scans his body for evidence of injury—blood, bruising, torn clothing. At first glance, he’s intact, but that only worries her more; turns her heart into a humminbird that beats against her ribs. She knows things can be broken inside, and briefly recalls Mipha once told her injuries you can’t see are often the worst. She feathers her hands over him hesitantly, whimpering his name, and then gathers him up in her arms. 

He’s hot. Hotter than should be possible. Like he’s a stone on Death Mountain that would be sizzling in the rain. It’s uncomfortable to palm his forehead, to hold him tight against her chest, but she endures, grits her teeth, and tries to lift him. Between the mud and the entire weight of his body and gear, they end up falling face first after a few steps. 

She smacks her chin hard. Stars swim in her vision, metal fills her mouth and the pitter-patter of the storm on the cliffs starts to sound like too many legs running toward them. Chimes in Kakariko red whirl like gears in the wind. The entire world leans over her, dangerously close, and she knows it’s the storm playing tricks, like the shadows in the pass, but he’s really in her arms, and they’ve been like this before, and if she’s losing him again–

She waits for the next boom of thunder to pass and starts to scream.

—-

Eventually someone hears her. Dorian helps Zelda carry Link to Impa’s House. Paya has to pry her fingers out of Link’s tunic. They hastily set up a cot between the stairs to the second floor and Impa offers one of her pillows for his head. They strip the clothes off him, dry his skin with a towel, and wrap him in a blanket. He has some bruising on his arms, a few scratches on his hands and knees, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary for what can be expected with travel. He’s thinner than she remembers. Paya retrieves his hand and gently pinches beneath his knuckles. His skin remains raised where she pulled when she takes away her hand.

Paya immediately rises and disappears under the stairs. A century ago, Zelda was told the gift of healing was known to others touched by her Power. Her mother died before she could pass along the important secrets of weaving magic over skin, stitching up wounds, washing away sickness. Her father told her the Goddess would reveal everything once she unlocked her Power. But a hundred years suspended by it, so divine she hemorrhaged molten sorcery every time she opened her lips, and still she heard no wisdom. No secrets. 

She tries to summon gold to her fingers, pressing them against his skin, focused on his suffering even though it physically hurts her to do it, but nothing comes. Paya has to pull her hands away again when she returns. 

“Here, he needs water.” Paya helps Zelda lift him enough to guide a cup to his lips. Most of it spills down his chin and pools on his neck. He sighs, limbs coming to life enough to wrap his hands around hers on the cup. He keeps his eyes shut and drinks the rest. This is more than a bad fever or a traveler’s virus. She can see all the nights he’s refused to sleep in the rim of fatigue around his eyes, so dark they look like smudges of coal. 

“You lied,” Zelda says, voice quivering. She blinks back the sting of tears. “About the rest. You lied.” 

Link falls back against the pillow. His eyes open for a second, an apology in his weakened gaze, before he passes back out. 

It is the same look he gave her right before he died. 

—-

The fever breaks the next day. Paya tries to coax some herbs and tea into him, but he pushes them away and signs for his pack when he has enough strength to sit up. He pulls out a tonic, noxious green, and a spiky yellow fruit that smells like rotting meat when it cracks open. He takes down both with a grimace and only then accepts the tea. Paya inspects the fruit and jots down some notes studiously. It’s what Zelda should be doing, but she’s still too angry to learn anything from him. 

Zelda, instead, sits in the corner of the room and studies the journey logged by the Sheikah Slate. He has four hundred and twenty seven ancient screws, twelve dozen guardian legs, a hundred and four ancient gears, and fifty one burnt out cores. She can see where he used fast travel by the abrupt gaps in his trail, and while it’s more than she likes, there are plenty of paths where he traveled on foot, so at least he kept his word about that. There is an intricate weaving of journey between the Great Plateau and southern Hyrule, where he jumped back and forth during the initial hesitancy to enter the Shrine of Resurrection. He didn’t clear it after he wrote to her. It’s the single glowing dot in the southwest entirety of the map. His trail moves up into Central Hyrule, all the way to the island north of the Quarry Ruins. Any evidence of the shrine she assumes brought him there is gone.

Then he moves in the direction of the castle, circles the foundation of the sacred grounds a few times, fast travels to Great Hyrule Forest, and then fast travels again to the shrine at the base of the Whistling Hill. Strangely, he doesn’t clear any of the shrines he traveled to. He passed through Riverside Stable, maybe to grab a horse or to rest, and then follows the road through the Dueling Peaks up to Kakariko. 

“When did you start feeling ill?” Zelda asks.

Link balances the tea carefully in one hand and motions for the Slate with the other.  Zelda moves over to him, and takes a seat by his cot. 

‘The shrine here,’ he points to the island next to Hyrule Castle. ‘Was situated deep in a cave covered by thorns. Hadn’t been back since the day I found it, so the thorns grew back.’

“How did you get around the thrones? Fast travel?” 

‘I always burn them when I see them. Bad for horses.’ 

Zelda knows smoke to be deadly, but it wouldn’t cause fever. She takes the Slate back from him and pinches her fingers to zoom all the way in on the island. 

“Was there anything different about the cave since the first time you were there?”

Link shakes his head.

“Nothing strange?” Zelda presses. 

‘The cave runs deep. Smelt funnier than I remembered.’

“Funnier?”

‘Like fumes. Decomposition. There was a lot of moisture inside. The Central Hyrule team said they got hit with a bad storm recently.’

“I believe it. Probably the same storm that's stuck in the valley.”

“You didn’t drink any of the water inside, right?” Paya interrupts gently. 

Link gives her a flat look. 

“S-s-sorry!”

“It’s not a ridiculous question, you're known to eat dubious food when you're desperate enough,” Zelda says. 

Link shrugs. 

“Did you immediately feel sick?”

He thinks for a beat, and then signs. ‘No. Maybe the next day?’

“At the sacred grounds?” 

He lifts his eyebrows up at Zelda and she bristles. “I was curious.”

“Should we put out an alert to avoid the cave until it can be properly investigated?” Paya asks.

‘There are a lot of old places in Hyrule people should avoid. Lots of unchecked and forgotten old magic. This was just a cave with damp air. It could have easily been something I ate.’

“Did you take any mushrooms from inside the cave?” Zelda says. 

He glares at her. 

“Again, a fair question, is it not?” Zelda straightens her spine. He huffs and shrugs.  “It doesn’t look like you rested much in the last two months.” Zelda points at the Slate. “It was probably a combination of small things- too much fast travel, monster patrolling, dehydration, the lack of a proper meal on the road. You are strong and you recover quicker than most, but you aren’t immortal.”

Link gets a far off look in his eyes. Before she can take it back, he signs, ‘It’s a fine line.’

He sinks down into the cot, paler than before, and rolls over. Paya goes back to studying the smelly fruit. Zelda sits beside him, stuck with the memory from a hundred years ago she summoned without meaning to. She is good at giving warnings, urging caution, chastising recklessness, and then quick to be left behind a tree, or in town, far from the fight or the hazards. Or worse, she gets herself stranded – the Yiga attack a century ago, slipping face-first in the mud yesterday – and requires rescue. Only when it is too late, like after the Calamity burst from the castle and their friends were slain, does she seem capable of offering more than words. 

She thinks about when she tried to send her response out to him at the Shrine of Resurrection, how brave it felt to send her letter. How she imagined he might feel reading it, whether her words alone would give him the courage to face his fears, or inspire him to come racing to Kakariko to see her. 

At the end of the day, like the proposal still at the bottom of her adventure pouch, like all her prayers to the Goddess, it's just more words.

—-

Purah and Robbie arrive in Kakariko three days later. With more tonic, fruit, and tea, Link’s strength returns, and he sets to work in the village. The rain moves away from the valley with his recovery. He gathers up cuccos, repairs the thatching, overpays for and cleans out the inventories of High Spirits and the Curious Quiver. The Sheikah are quick to forget how sick he was. Zelda doesn’t hear anyone warning him to take it easy. The requests for his aid are plenty. 

She can’t help but feel like he’s keeping busy to avoid her.

The village hosts a communal meal to celebrate the storm ending. They pull out a large pot, set it over the fire by High Spirits and serve bowl after bowl of creamy vegetable soup until every belly in the village is full. Koko’s surprises everyone with her signature hot apples, made possible by a donation of all the goat butter Link bought from Trissa. He also supplies a handful of rare big truffles from his travels for the soup.

He just gives it all to them. 

It shouldn’t bother her, but she can’t seem to shake the weight of his body in her arms or the coal under his eyes, or the way he looked at her the day he died. She catches herself staring at him, unapologetically, searching for signs he needs rest. She’s doing it now, as he finally sits down with some food with the Sheikah elders, Purah, and Paya. 

“You with us, Princess?” Purah says. Zelda drops her spoon in her bowl.  

“Me? Yeah, sure. Yes. What were you saying?”

“I was just summarizing what is left in phase one of the restoration. Link only has six shrines left in Central Hyrule and then all the shrines in Akkala. We got a report from the Central Hyrule guardian team. Link was able to gather a handful of the cores when he was there, but they have the greatest concentration of guardians in all of Hyrule. He’ll need to go back and aid with the–”

“He was sick,” Zelda says.

“I heard you used durian from Faron. Do you have any more? Smells like feet, but does wonders for my joints,” Robbie says between bites of apple.

“Thank the Goddess our Linky is feeling better!” She snaps her fingers. “We could probably head out tomorrow–”

“He only just started feeling better.”

“I’m fine.” It’s the first time he’s spoken out loud since he arrived. His voice is raspy and tired. It only fuels her momentum. 

Zelda snaps her head toward Link. “You were so sick you couldn’t stand. I saw how much ground you covered those last few weeks. All of Faron and the rest of Necluda? The terrain surrounding Mount Floria–the Zonai Ruins alone should have taken you a month.”

He switches back to sign, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I’ve done it before.’

“Yes, but just because you have doesn’t mean you should. What if you fainted on a mountain? Or slipped crossing the falls. You won't be able to fast travel away from danger much longer.”

‘I know that.’

“You still have to clear the Shrine of Resurrection.”

Link gets dangerously still. She’s seen this stature before, mostly when he’s preparing to strike. In the calm before an ambush, or when he’s surrounded, plotting out the next ten moves in the space between seconds. 

And that’s his problem right?

Zelda sets down her bowl, digs her heels in, and turns to Impa. “I propose we pause the shrines. It doesn’t need to be done in a year. We are already behind schedule. We can focus on the towers, or the Divine Beasts for a little while.”

“I can finish the shrines,” Link says. Zelda doesn’t look at him. She looks at Purah. “It would be a good opportunity to compare the Sheikah Slate to your new prototype.  Probably the last time you’ll be able to run any pending mechanics before the Slate is gone. The plan is to destroy the Slate when the shrines are gone, right?”

Purah adjusts her crimson glasses and looks down at the Sheikah Slate. She grips it like it might grow legs and leap off her lap at any second. Zelda can see the gears begin to turn in her head. The Anti-Aging Rune is calibrated for the Sheikah Slate. How could she justify keeping the Slate functional after they complete the initial restoration phase for a personal project no one sanctioned.  

��I do want to review the…camera function. Yeah, yes. I still need to build out the software for the Purah Pad so it compiles relevant photos into a compendium like the Sheikah Slate.”

“Can’t you just load all the data Link has already collected from the Sheikah Slate? Master Link spent three years collecting it all for you,” Paya says. At least someone else appreciates his efforts. 

“What’s the fun in that?” Purah waves her hand dismissively. 

‘I still think we should call it something different…” Robbie grumbles.

“No one will trust a device called the ‘Divine Switch’. Let it go.” 

Impa looks at Link quietly, absentmindedly pressing two fingers to her third eye. Zelda can see something registering across the Sheikah’s face. Was she still seeing the Hero of the Wild, warden of Courage, Hylia’s fist? Or was she seeing the only sparring partner that ever matched her intensity, who always used to return with a pumpkin in his early campaigns because he knew how much the Sheikah missed home? Is she finally remembering the boy behind the Champion blue?

She looks at Zelda next. Zelda holds her breath. Does she see the avatar of the Goddess? The lost Princess of Hyrule? Or is it the girl all those years ago Impa stumbled upon, wandering the empty halls of a stone castle in the middle of the night, desperate for a friend? 

Impa takes her hand away from her face and nods. “Vah Rudania is already resting. We should support the burial of the remaining Divine Beasts. Purah can take the Slate and run any final tests. It will give me time to formulate the announcement of my retirement.”

Zelda blinks. Paya drops her food. “G-grandmother? What are you talking about?”

“The abdication of my title.”

“W-when?”

Impa squints at the night sky. It’s the clearest it’s been in a week. “Now? Now sounds good.”

“What are you talking about? Who will–” Paya freezes as Impa pulls off her hat, revealing a thin coil of silver braid on the top of her head that partially uncoils and drops down by her ear. 

She sighs and sets the hat down in Paya’s lap. “Here you go.”

“Grandmother. No! No. You can’t be– Princess? Master Link? Tell her she can’t do this!”

“You think we’ve ever been able to Impa what to do?” Link says. Zelda finally looks at him. The brief flash of irritation she ignited with her comment about the Shrine of Resurrection is gone. He’s painfully unreadable again.

“Great auntie?”

“Don’t look at me. I’m just a kid.”

For now, Zelda thinks. Purah winks at her.

“R-r-robbie?”

“Will you give me the ranking authority to name the next Slate?”

Paya grimaces. Robbie wilts. He stands, takes the hat, and places it atop Paya’s head. Her eyes disappear from view beyond the weighted brim. “Celebrations, celebrations then. I’m getting another apple.”

Everyone starts laughing. Everyone but Link. It takes Zelda a second to come back to him, but when she does, she finds him just staring at her from across the fire. It’s how she imagined she looked the day he involuntarily destroyed her plans, except Zelda knew exactly what she was doing to him when she recommended they pivot. He isn’t exactly neutral or angry. It’s an odd look she catches between the flames. Rare, for someone who is always ten steps ahead. 

Almost like he’s surprised. 

—-

Someone brings out a batch of pumpkin ale once the children are all put to bed. Zelda lets Robbie fill her mug twice, enjoying the slow spread of warmth up from her toes and the hint of nutmeg and rum from the Lurelin barrel that lingers between each sip. There is music and easy conversation and more food. It isn't after midnight that she takes her mug and wanders away from the group, in the direction of her cot on Impa’s second floor. She pauses in the foyer and drifts toward the wall with the Calamity Ganon tapestry. 

She reaches out and drags her fingers over the depiction of the ancient princess. She’s tracing the threads of pale yellow depicting the Sacred Power when she hears him come up behind her. He only makes sound when he wants to be noticed, so assumes he’s been following her since she left the group. Old habits.

“It is really a terrible way to chronicle major historical events. The craftsmanship is beautiful. I can’t imagine the hundreds of hours it took to stitch all these little guardians, but it leaves an awful lot up to interpretation. Calamity Ganon could easily be mistaken for a dragon. Can you imagine? Facing off against a wicked version of Dinraal or Farosh?”

“I prefer the demon boar.” Link stands beside her. He smells like campfire and forest. It’s the first time they’ve been alone in almost a year. Zelda tells herself the heat in her face is because of the ale. 

“I’m sorry about the shrines.” She extends her mug to him. He accepts and takes a sip without taking his eyes off the tapestry. 

“No you aren’t,” he says finally, offering the drink back to her. She takes it and pulls it close to her chest like a shield because he’s right. “Probably for the best. I’m not good at stepping back once I’ve started something.”

She lets out a puff of laughter and rotates her gaze back at the tapestry. The ancient hero’s hair is fiery red, a detail that always amused her. Zelda is an exact copy of the ancient princess. You can clearly see she was Hylian by the ears, but the hero has none of Link’s features. He barely looks human. They chose the Champion blue from the color found in the threads that make up the ancient hero’s armor, but up close, she can see it’s a blending. They could have just as easily gone with green. Perhaps her father had wanted to harness the protective glow of the sacred blade…the sacred blade…

It wasn’t strapped to his back when they fell in the mud. Wasn’t at his bedside while he rested. She hasn’t seen it since he left for Eldin all those months ago.  

It isn’t in the sheath he wears now. The hilt carries the same pattern on the snowquill set he gave her before Mount Lanayru. Rito. Same as his bow. He’s replaced his blue hoops with an amber set from Gerudo Town. Urbosa owned a similar pair. Under his tunic, which has tiny stamps of mushrooms along the collar, she can see the scales of Mipha’s feather-light armor.

“Where’s the Master Sword?” Zelda asks, a sudden bitter aftertaste building in her throat. Link reaches for her ale again and finishes it. He smacks his lips, sets the glass down, and faces her. 

‘It needed to heal,’ he signs. ‘I decided to let it.’

Zelda sees the journey captured by the Sheikah Slate again. The Great Plateau, Central Hyrule and the cave shrine, the sacred grounds, and then…and then…

Great Hyrule Forest. 

He put it back after all the letters. Without her. Not that she owned the moment in any way, but it was something she always envisioned them doing together. Hand-in-hand. 

It served its purpose. He served his purpose; freed her from the Calamity and vanquished the Scourge of Hyrule Castle—

Suddenly, his letter feels less like a prayer and more like a confession. He admitted to running from destiny, as fast and for as long as he could, and only after experiencing an uncomplicated wonder (not her warnings or her reassurances or her memories) did he finally take up the Sword.

And now he can offer something different—his hands. And everywhere in Hyrule, people are reaching. They are burying the past and starting anew, and they still call her Princess, but no one is reaching for her.

How can they? You can’t move forward and still look back.

Link is able to choose this new life and he has. He already did. The thing that brought them together at the start of all this, the weapon that bound him to her, is gone.

Zelda flits her eyes toward the tapestry—to the ancient princess who looks unquestionably like her.  She’s eternally reaching, but for what? When the Calamity was gone and her magic burnt out, was the hero standing across from her then? 

Was he still holding the Sword?

#totk spoilers #totk #totk fanfiction #totk fanfic #totk zelink #botw zelink #botw #breath of the wild #loz #legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #loz totk #zelinkweek2023 #zelinkcommunity #bahbahhhart #bahbahhhwrites #begin again

[beautifulmars]

An Inlet Valley to Jezero Crater

Our science goal is to study the fluvial bedforms in this inlet valley located to the west of Jezero. With stereo and a digital terrain model, we can obtain information about cross-sections in the topography. (Image cutout is less than 5 km across.)

ID: ESP_074413_1990 date: 11 June 2022  altitude: 279 km

NASA/JPL-Caltech/UArizona

#mars #nasa #science #geology #landscape #astronomy #space #uarizona

[deliciouskeys]

I don’t understand why so many of you are so obsessed with mpreg. And it’s never a C-section either, as if a baby would fit through the hip bones of a guy. Wish some of you would read a biology textbook.

Lol, Anon, I’m so glad your biological objection to mpreg is not the absence of a female reproductive system nor the presence of a male endocrine system that would actually make pregnancy difficult even with a transplanted uterus. No, you’re worried about the relatively minute skeletal sexual dimorphism of the human pelvis. It’s true that it’s been a while since I read a biology “textbook”, but you can read more up to date research here: Pelvic Inlet Shape Is Not as Dimorphic as Previously Suggested

Tl;dr: there are 4 pelvic forms, defined based on specific measurements back in the 19th century by racist, sexist anthropologists, who said only ‘abnormal’ women have an android pelvis. Surprise, surprise, it turns out their “android vs gynecoid” dichotomy is pretty much a misnomer. Most people have a ‘male pelvis’, and to add insult to injury, more men than women have a ‘female pelvis’ 😂

In addition to these differences, others claim that the inlet shape is generally android in males and gynecoid in females (Caldwell et al., 1934; Abitbol, 1996; Burden and Simons, 2004; Drake et al., 2005). However, the results of this study refute this claim because the android form was the most common shape for both males and females. In addition, the perceived typical female shape was actually more common among the males in this study. These results question the validity of defining a typical inlet shape for males and females.

Anyway, hope that helps you enjoy mpreg for its stark realism according to leading edge science.

#lol #thanks for the ask! #not sarcastic #mpreg #science #anthropolgy #biology

[usafphantom2]

OTD in 1969, The Iconic XB-70 Valkyrie Mach 3 Super Bomber Made Its Last Flight

February 4, 2021 Military Aviation, Military History

Three drag chutes were needed to slow down the landing roll of the XB-70. (Image credit: Reddit edit The Aviationist)

The massive XB-70 Valkyrie is the largest and heaviest airplane ever to fly at Mach 3.

The North American XB-70 Valkyrie was the most ambitious super-bomber project of the Cold War. The massive six-engine bomber was slated to be the ultimate American high-altitude, high-speed, deep-penetration manned nuclear bomber designed to fly high and fast, so as to be safe from Soviet interceptors.

Two Valkyrie prototypes were been built at North American Aviation before the Kennedy Administration cancelled the program as a consequence of the doubts that surrounded the future of manned bombers believed to be obsolete platforms. The threat posed by Soviet SAMs (Surface-to-Air Missiles) put the near-invulnerability of the strategic bomber at high altitudes in doubt. In low-level penetration role, the B-70 offered little performance improvement over the B-52 it was designed to replace (!) and it was much more expensive with shorter range.

Some fascinating variants of the aircraft were proposed. Some envisaged the B-70 carrying an Alert Pod, or flying as a Supersonic Refueler or as a Recoverable Booster Space System (RBSS). You can find all the details about these crazy concepts in this story we have posted last year.

Ezoic

The B-70 program was canceled in 1961 and development continued as part of a research program to study the effects of long-duration high-speed flight with the two XB-70A.

XB-70A number 1 (62-001) made its first flight from Palmdale to Edwards Air Force Base, CA, on Sept. 21, 1964. The second XB-70A (62-207) made its first flight on Jul. 17, 1965. The latter differed from the first prototype for being built with an added 5 degrees of dihedral on the wings as suggested by the NASA Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA, wind-tunnel studies.

While the 62-001 made only one flight above Mach 3, because of poor directional stability experienced past Mach 2.5, the second XB-70, achieved Mach 3 for the first time on Jan. 3, 1966 and successfully completed a total of nine Mach 3 flights by June on the same year.

Photo of the XB-70 #1 cockpit, which shows the complexity of this mid-1960s research aircraft. On the left and right sides of the picture are the pilot’s and co-pilot’s control yokes. Forward of these, on the cockpit floor, are the rudder pedals with the NAA North American Aviation trademark. Between them is the center console. Visible are the six throttles for the XB-70’s jet engines. Above this is the center instrument panel. The bottom panel has the wing tip fold, landing gear, and flap controls, as well as the hydraulic pressure gages. In the center are three rows of engine gages. The top row are tachometers, the second are exhaust temperature gages, and the bottom row are exhaust nozzle position indicators. Above these are the engine fire and engine brake switches. The instrument panels for the pilot left and co-pilot right differ somewhat. Both crewmen have an airspeed/Mach indicator, and altitude/vertical velocity indicator, an artificial horizon, and a heading indicator/compass directly in front of them. The pilot’s flight instruments, from top to bottom, are total heat gage and crew warning lights; stand-by flight instruments side-slip, artificial horizon, and altitude; the engine vibration indicators; cabin altitude, ammonia, and water quantity gages, the electronic compartment air temperature gage, and the liquid oxygen quantity gage. At the bottom are the switches for the flight displays and environmental controls. On the co-pilot’s panel, the top three rows are for the engine inlet controls. Below this is the fuel tank sequence indicator, which shows the amount of fuel in each tank. The bottom row consists of the fuel pump switches, which were used to shift fuel to maintain the proper center of gravity. Just to the right are the indicators for the total fuel top and the individual tanks bottom. Visible on the right edge of the photo are the refueling valves, while above these are switches for the flight data recording instruments. (Image credit: NASA)

A joint agreement signed between NASA and the Air Force planned to use the second XB-70A prototype for high-speed research flights in support of the American supersonic transport (SST) program.

However, on June 8, 1966, the XB-70 62-207 was involved in one of the most famous and tragic accidents in military aviation when it collided with a civilian registered F-104N while flying in formation as part of a General Electric company publicity photo shoot over Barstow, California, outside the Edwards Air Force Base test range in the Mojave Desert. The aircraft were flying in formation with a T-38 Talon, an F-4B Phantom II, and a YF-5A Freedom Fighter.

North American XB-70A Valkyrie just after collision. Note the F-104 is at the forward edge of the fireball and most of both XB-70A vertical stabilizers are gone. (U.S. Air Force photo)

As explained in a previous post here at The Aviationist:

Towards the end of the photo shooting NASA registered F-104N Starfighter, piloted by famous test pilot Joe Walker, got too close to the right wing of the XB-70, collided, sheared off the twin vertical stabilizers of the big XB-70 and exploded as it cartwheeled behind the Valkyrie. North American test pilot Al White ejected from the XB-70 in his escape capsule, but received serious injuries in the process. Co-pilot Maj. Carl Cross, who was making his first flight in the XB-70, was unable to eject and died in the crash.

The root cause of the incident was found to be wake turbulence: wake vortices spinning off the XB-70’s wingtip caused Walker’s F-104N to roll, colliding with the right wingtip of the huge XB-70 and breaking apart. As explained in details in this post, wingtip vortices form because of the difference in pressure between the upper and lower surfaces of a wing. When the air leaves the trailing edge of the wing, the air stream from the upper surface is inclined to that from the lower surface, and helical paths, or vortices, result. The vortex is strongest at the tips and decreasing rapidly to zero nearing midspan: at a short distance from the trailing edge downstream, the vortices roll up and combine into two distinct cylindrical vortices that constitute the “tip vortices.

Although research activities continued with the first prototype with a first NASA flight on April 25, 1967, the last one was on Feb. 4, 1969.

The only remaining XB-70 Valkyrie super bomber in on display at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force at Wright-Patterson AFB in Dayton, Ohio. In October last year, it had to briefly moved outside for display maintenance. Here you can watch a video of the monumental move.

A view of the six massive afterburners on the XB-70 Valkyrie as the aircraft is towed out of its display hangar temporarily for museum maintenance. (Photo: National Museum of the U.S. Air Force via YouTube)

About David Cenciotti

David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.

@TheAviationist via X

[diabolus1exmachina]

Ferrari 365 GTB/4 Daytona (very first) Prototype by Scaglietti

In the late 1960s, it seemed as if the performance car world was at a crossroads. With the introduction of Lamborghini’s P400 Miura and its revolutionary mid-engined design, some thought this design would be the future for the upper echelons of performance cars, and that front-engined cars would begin to fade from popularity.

Spurred on by the success of the Miura, Ferrari knew that the replacement of the 275 GTB/4 needed to be something spectacular and new in order to take the fight to Lamborghini. Rather than move to a mid-engined format, it was decided that the front-engined V-12 platform would remain, alongside coachwork penned by Pininfarina. Quite simply, if it works for you and your clients, why go about reinventing the wheel? After all, this is what Ferrari had built their reputation on, and there was no one better at building twelve-cylinder, front-engined GT cars than Ferrari. They were not to be outdone by this team of renegades at Lamborghini, headquartered just down the road from Maranello!

Chassis number 10287 was the genesis of that new model of Ferraris and the Scuderia’s fighting back against the Lamborghini and the Miura. At first glance to the casual observer, the car offered here seems to tread the line between a 275 GTB/4 and a 365 GTB/4 Daytona. Visual cues to both can be seen and some design elements seem to have blended together, but this car is far more than a design study to determine Ferrari’s future. A total of six 365 GTB/4 prototypes would be built, but this example, as the first, remains the most recognizable, the most unique, the most significant, and is undoubtedly the most desirable.

Chassis number 10287 is that of a Tipo 596 chassis, the same type which was used for the 275 GTB/4, made of tubular steel and a wheelbase measuring 2,400 mm (a wheelbase length shared by both 275 GTB/4 and 365 GTB/4). At its heart is a completely unique Lampredi engine, one that would not be seen in any other Ferrari road car at the time. Designated Tipo 243 internally, it is fitted with dry sump, three-valve heads rather than the usual four valves per cylinder, dual ignition, twin spark plugs per cylinder, and is topped with six Weber 40 DCN18 carburetors. The block itself is based on that of a 330 GT but has been bored out to 4,380 cc. What is worth noting about this completely unique and radically redesigned engine is that it bears similarities to the engines found in the 330 P4 prototype racers, the race car that won numerous races and earned its place in the history books after their memorable 1-2 finish with a 412 P coming in third at the 1967 24 Hours of Daytona. These racing cars also have double inlet valves with one exhaust valve per cylinder.

Aesthetically, the design in front of the windshield was similar to that of a 275 GTB/4, albeit with a slightly stretched and flattened nose, still boasting covered headlights and a bonnet with a central bulge similar to a 275 GTB/4. The shape of the tail section of the bodywork is instantly recognizable to anyone familiar with a Daytona, utilizing 275 GTB/4 boot hinges and a full-width rear chrome bumper. Chassis number 10287's side profile is most evocative of the production Daytona, and allegedly what Enzo Ferrari loved most about this particular prototype, featuring a near identical rear ¾ section and roofline. Looking at the nose and bonnet, similarities can be seen between this and Jaguar’s E-Type.

Once completed in early 1967, 10287 saw extensive factory testing at the Modena Autodrome over the course of that year. It was first registered on May 8, 1968, wearing Italian number plates ‘Roma B 85391’ through the official Ferrari dealer in Rome, Motor S.a.s. di Carla Allegretti e C, noting a sales price of 8,000,000 Italian Lira. It is interesting to note that, at the time, this was similar in price to a new 275 GTB/4, but by that time, the production version of the 365 GTB/4 Daytona had yet to be introduced, this being about five months before the 1968 Paris Auto Salon.

#Ferrari 365 GTB/4 Daytona #Prototype #Scaglietti #lamborghini p400 miura #275 GTB/4 #Pininfarina #v12 #Lampredi #Enzo Ferrari #Paris Auto Salon #24 Hours of Daytona

[enuode-au]

Anthon Pixlriff

The Copper King

The title was given to him by his family, who helped aid him in the first coppersmithing. Some people hear it and think he's made of copper.

Copper - Rekhia is known for its copper craftsmanship

King - He is indeed the king of Rekhia

Leader of Rekhia

Some claim that Anthon Pixlriff is the oldest man alive, and they might not be wrong. Over twelve thousand years ago, Pix was born into a lineage directly descending from the Ancient Builders. Because of this, he learned how to navigate the world as they did: crafting, smithing, enchanting, building, mining, the like. For a while, he was satisfied with traveling around the world on a solo adventure, learning the cultures and languages of the people he came across. He was eventually taught that this world was different than others, and that he'd have to play his game differently if he were to live a satisfactory life. Thus, he established a home in the mostly-uninhabited desert of Vryris, and soon, towns began springing up all along the Vryrisian Inlet. He stumbled upon the Vigil on a mining expedition one day, and brought it to his home to study. A siege caused him to lose his home and almost lose possession of the Vigil, but he was able to keep the Vigil and later rebuilt his home in the now-Capital of Rekhia, Sorkshailim. The Vigil remains protected in the city, and Pix has spent the past few thousand years watching over his people and his home.

Age: 12,186

Birthday: July 30, -8175

Whenever someone asks for the year, he just says "about this far back" and stretches his arms really long. People have learned to just stop asking.

Height: 1'17bl (6'1", 185cm)

Gender: Male

Pronouns: he/him

Race: Ancient

An ancient is just a basically immortal and powerful line of humans. There are very few left in the world. Pix gained the ability of Prophet from his lineage.

Titles: Pix, Pixl

Pix doesn’t like using fancy titles. He lets people shorten his name how they want to.

#enuode au #enuode au chref #enuode au chlor #empires au #empires smp #empires s1 #pixlriffs #pixlriffs fanart #empires pixlriffs

[wisedawn13]

#xiantober Day 19: Royalxian

On the evening before Wei Ying's 23rd birthday, his parents sit him down to tell him that a marriage alliance has been formed between their kingdom and Gusu. Wei Ying is to marry the second prince whom he will meet at his birthday ball tomorrow.

On the evening before Wei Ying's 23rd birthday, he sneaks out of the palace.

Wei Ying loves his parents and he loves his kingdom, he knows his duty and will do it. But Wei Ying is also scared.

Throughout his life, he's snuck out many times.

He wears a simple disguise and goes into town to mingle among the people, looking at shops and drinking good wine.

His favourite place to go is a little inlet beach where a large tree grows. He will sit at the base of the tree or up on a branch and think.

When he arrives there this evening he finds that someone has already beat him there. They are seated at the bottom of his favourite tree and looking up at the darkening sky.

Wei Ying has been here many times and has never crossed paths with another person here before.

As he walks closer he gets a better view of the person. Dark, smooth hair in a long braid flows down their back with chunks to frame their beautiful face. They are wearing simple clothes and their eyes seem filled with a distant sadness, a longing.

Wei Ying walks closer.

When they turn to look at him his breath hitches in his chest, they have the most stunning eyes he's ever seen.

Wei Ying smiles. "Mind if I join you?"

They study him a moment before gesturing to the ground nearby. Wei Ying sits near them and leans against the tree.

"I come here when there's a lot on my mind and I want a calm place to just think," Wei Ying admits quietly as he looks out over the water.

"I can understand why you would, it is beautiful here," they reply in a smooth, deep voice.

Wei Ying hums in agreement.

They sit in companionable silence for a while as the sky darkens further and the first stars come out.

"Do you ever wish your life was different?" Wei Ying whispers suddenly.

"Sometimes," the stranger admits. "I do not dislike my life, but I sometimes wish..." they trail off.

"That you had more control?" Wei Ying supplies.

"Mn. I suppose it is a part of life for one to feel helpless in their circumstances."

Wei Ying laughs quietly as he idly plays with a blade of grass. "Doesn't make it any easier."

"No," they agree. "It doesn't."

Wei Ying watches as the blade of grass floats off on a breeze. "What brought you out here this fine evening?"

The stranger is silent for a moment. "My family has come to visit town for me to meet my betrothed," they admit. "I was feeling overwhelmed and found this place."

"It's a good place," Wei Ying says.

"It is."

"Are you worried about meeting your betrothed?"

The stranger shifts, their hand brushing lightly over the grass. "I suppose I am worried, but I do not believe it to be in the way most would expect."

Wei Ying hums in question.

"I have a duty to uphold to my family and this marriage is highly beneficial. I have heard many a rumour of my betrothed, they are said to be fiercely beautiful and intelligent as well as endlessly kind and charming. I fear that I will be unappealing to him in comparison."

Wei Ying sucks in a sharp breath. "I may not know you or who your betrothed is, but I can guarantee that your betrothed will not find you unappealing or uninteresting. Besides, if he does then he is undeserving of you."

That causes the stranger to huff a quiet laugh.

"You are correct," they say. "You do not know me." There is a hint of a teasing lilt to the way they say it. Wei Ying laughs, loud and free. "What brought you here this evening?"

Wei Ying settles and watches as the moon peaks out over the horizon.

"Same as you, really. I was told I am to be betrothed and will be meeting them tomorrow. I'm fairly certain my parents waited until the last minute before telling me so I didn't fret over it," he laughs. "It was expected to happen someday, though. I'm just..."

"Scared?"

"Yeah."

The stranger hums in understanding and Wei Ying is struck by the fact that they really, truly understand where he's coming from.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, leaning against the same tree as the moon rises into the sky.

They stay like that for a small eternity.

Then, the stranger stands and turns to Wei Ying. "It was a pleasure to meet you, I wish you all the best with your betrothal. I must return now. Have a pleasant evening."

Wei Ying smiles rather forlornly as he realizes he will never again see this lovely stranger. "You as well."

With that, they leave and Wei Ying is left alone under the night sky. He leaves not long after that, sneaking back into the palace before crawling into bed and sleeping deeply.

The next day is a bit of a chaotic mess as people run about doing last-minute tasks for the ball.

Wei Ying wanders the hall, wondering after the stranger, hoping they are happy. His parents find him staring out of a window shortly before he is meant to get ready and they usher him back to his quarters.

Hours later, he is standing outside the ballroom, waiting to enter.

He takes a breath before making his entrance and all eyes turn to him. The birthday boy. The crown prince. He smiles and greets people as he moves across the room to where his parents are.

Shortly after that, the second prince of Gusu is introduced.

Wei Ying turns to look at who his betrothed is and finds his world come to a standstill.

There, entering the hall in a regal white and blue outfit, is the stranger he met last night under the tree. Wei Ying's heart pounds wildly in his chest as they lock eyes across the room.

He could laugh.

He could cry.

Wei Ying moves and they meet in the middle of the room.

"Hi," Wei Ying whispers with a grin.

"Hello," the second prince says warmly.

"So... I suppose proper introductions are warranted."

"Mn. It would make married life much easier."

Wei Ying laughs. "So it would. I'm Wei Ying, crown prince of Yiling." He bows formally but carries a teasing smirk on his lips.

"I am Lan Zhan, second prince of Gusu." He bows formally as well. Very proper.

"Nice to meet you, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says, meaning it.

He watches in delight as Lan Zhan's mouth ticks up into the smallest, softest smile. "Nice to meet you, Wei Ying."

----------

Link to thread

#xiantober #wangxian #mdzs #threadfic #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #lan wangji #lan zhan #wei wuxain #wei ying #from twitter #wisedawn13 #fanfic #fanfiction

[corgitation]

study log 3/26

vocab:

finished all wanikani reviews

leveled up!

learned new kanji:

杯 (はい) cup of liquid, which I know from 精一杯 (the best one can do)

催 (さい) sponsor (new!)

促 (そく) urge (new!)

江 (え) inlet (new!)

請 (せい・しん・しょう) request (new!)

雄 (ゆう) male (new!)

grammar:

haven't completed bunpro reviews in awhile, so it took awhile but I finally finished all my reviews!

learned new grammar rules:

しかない (have no choice but, only, just)

～ても構わない (it doesn't matter, I don't mind)

～ても～なくても (whether ~ or not)

100 rules for N3 learned!

#japanese studyblr #studyblr #langblr #language #japanese #language learning

[scorchieart]

Falling Ahead - Part 5

This week's thoughts: what if we never see Clavis and Leon together because Clavis is secretly still miffed that Leon ended up taller? Again, probably not the reason, but now you have to consider it as I have.

Ages: Yves (13), Clavis (16) - ft. Leon

previous part ☆ Masterlist ☆

In the early hours of morning, when much of Rhodolite was tucked safely in bed against the brittle cold, two pairs of boots marched carefully along a cleared walkway beside mounds of shoveled snow and fields blanketed with white.

“And tell me what they all wore,” Yves said. He slowed down to balance the load of practice swords in his arms then scurried to catch up to his brother, his billowy pink scarf fluttering behind him.

“Ehh, the usual puffy, fluffy stuff, I guess?” Leon replied. “Careful you don’t trip there. You sure you don’t need a hand?”

“I’m fine!” panted Yves, though his red-blotched cheeks and frost-tipped eyelashes suggested otherwise. “Exactly what kind of puff and fluff?”

“Dunno. Was too busy trying not to fall asleep to pay attention,” said Leon. He leaned against a nearby pillar, his own arms laden with an assortment of gauntlets and breast plates, and watched Yves catch up with a smile. “Though, none of those hoity-toities holds a candle to your unmatched fashion sense, Yves.”

“Well, obviously,” said Yves, his face flushing further. “But I need to know what’s in these days.” He stopped in front of Leon and, after catching his breath, straightened himself to his full height, his bright eyes sparkling against the snow. “What colors and fabrics and textures and patterns and layers and accessories and hairstyles and—”

“See!” Leon exclaimed, pushing off the wall. “That right there! As if I could remember all those details about every single person. Next time there’s a ball, you come with me and find out for yourself. Then you can teach me what I’m supposed to wear!”

A chilly breeze wafted overhead as Yves hunched his shoulders and tucked his nose into his scarf. “Leon, you know I can’t.”

“Yes you can!” said Leon. “You’re a prince of Rhodolite through and through, no matter what anyone thinks. And even if you weren’t, I’d like to see someone dare come up and say you don’t belong. Because then I’ll get to show him what happens when negotiations break down in the roundtable room.” He whooped and kicked the air triumphantly, and Yves giggled when he struck a pose.

“That’s not really what happens when you disagree in there, is it?” Yves asked.

“Sometimes things get dicey. Especially when Chevalier’s being a brick.” Leon lowered his leg and turned his warm smile again to Yves. “But if you want to see for yourself, why don’t you stop by today? We’ll drop these off at the training grounds, then we can spend the rest of the morning fixing your outfit if you want.”

Yves lowered his gaze to the cobblestones beneath them, dragging his boots over bits of snow stuck in between inlets. “But don’t you have to prepare for the meeting?” he asked quietly.

“They don’t give me that much to do yet,” said Leon. “I mostly just react to what’s going on in the moment, and no amount of studying will prepare you for that. It’s all in your gut.”

“Well said, dear brother! A good kick in the gut would unlodge just about any stubborn brick!” said a voice from behind them, and Yves shuddered at its impish tone.

“That’s not really what I meant, you know,” said Leon as Clavis strode up to the pair wearing an enormous white coat draped over his shoulders. Yves thought it made him look ridiculously immature, like a boy trying on his father’s clothes, but his lips froze as Clavis’s widened into a large smile.

“Well, that’s how I interpreted it,” Clavis said gleefully, patting Yves’s head when he reached them. “And you ought to be more careful what you say around our little brothers. They are at that impressionable age, you know.”

“As opposed to what you do on the daily?” Leon asked, moving to stand in between Clavis and Yves. Though younger, Leon had already caught up to Clavis’s height. A fact that developed into a touchy rift between the brothers in recent days.

“Most certainly!” Clavis replied, quickly eyeing whether Leon had grown taller overnight. “My schemes encourage individualistic thinking and problem solving. It would hardly do well for a prince to grow up constantly in the shadow of his elders simply for being born later, after all.” Yves noticed Clavis slightly push up on his toes as he spoke. 

But if Leon noticed, he didn’t make mention of it.

“You see, Yves?” Leon laughed. “This is what happens when you don’t use your free time effectively.” 

Clavis gaped. “Excuse me, Leon. I happen to keep myself very occupied without Chevalier breathing down my neck every five seconds, thank you very much. Traps don’t trap themselves!”

Leon ignored him and turned to Yves. “Heck, the fact that you got up early to actively help out the palace means you’re a shoo-in for the domestic faction. Wanna stop by the office for a tour after the meeting? We can show you all the cool projects we’ve been working on.”

“If he wants to stay inside the lines and do exactly as he’s told, then your coddly domestic faction is perfect for him,” Clavis said, the curves of his mouth dropping. “But why not break free from what others have ordained and seek what the rest of the world has to offer? Doesn’t that sound much more exciting? Writing your own destiny?”

“He can do just that with the support of people who care about him and want to see him succeed,” said Leon.

“Or, he could step off the beaten path and carve his own,” said Clavis, and he swiped Yves’s scarf right off his neck and dashed onto the snowy grounds.

“Hey!” Leon called, dropping the armor and rocketing after Clavis. 

Yves sidestepped the fallen armor pieces and rushed to the edge of the walkway, stopping just before the first snowy footprint. Leon chased Clavis across the lawn, and with each step they took the once-pristine blanket of snow earned a new hole as the landscape dotted with their exploits. But Yves held back, arms full, rocking back and forth in place.

He hated seeing them fight. Especially on his behalf. Especially with him watching so close by. 

Yves scanned the area, hoping to catch the attention of some passersby, but aside from the two princes galloping in the field, the grounds were as empty as Jin’s plate after dessert. Yves hugged the swords closer to his chest, immensely thankful they were dull, and wondered how he could stop his brothers before they hurt each other. If they were closer he could toss snowballs to get their attention, or maybe whack them with one of the swords to push them apart. But Clavis and Leon’s figures grew smaller and smaller as their struggle continued farther and farther away, and Yves chewed his chapped lips until the coppery tint of blood spread across his tongue. He had enough.

He tossed aside all but one sword, wiped his lip, and stepped into the closest footprint. He held his breath and waited, and when no trap sprang he stepped into the next footprint. Following the path, Yves slowly made his way closer to the dueling duo, though whether he was shaking more from the cold or his own nerves, he was unsure. 

“Hey! Cut it out!” he called once he was close enough to hear insults thrown in the air. But his voice died in a sudden burst of windchill, and Yves wrapped his arms tightly around himself as he squinted through the snow. He circled in his spot, losing sight of Clavis and Leon and nearly everything in the whiteness, until at last he spotted a nearby tree. He couldn’t make out the footprints anymore, but he gritted his shivering teeth and pressed onward, the crackle of freshly disturbed snow stabbing his legs with each uncharted step.

Once he reached the tree, he used the sword to find footing in the trunk and began to climb. The frosted bark burned his skin, but he bit back the pain until he reached a thick branch and crawled onto it. Snow swirled beneath him as he searched the grounds, and he wielded the sword and cut through the wind in hopes of catching a glimpse of some hair or a limb in the fresco. But Yves did not often venture out in the cold and was unaware of the sword’s ineffectiveness against the gale, and as he grew more frustrated at the futility of his plan, his balance swaying with each jab and swing, and he noticed too late that he was slipping off the branch and that someone was screaming his name.

When Yves next opened his eyes, he was in considerably much less pain than he’d expected. At first, he attributed his lack of feeling to shock, only the snow touching his cheeks was very cool, and the lump underneath him was very soft.

“Leon!” Yves cried, quickly jumping off his brother. 

“S’alright, I’m good. And you look good, too,” Leon replied, sitting up and shaking the snow out of his hair. His head still wobbled as he raised an arm and draped the pink scarf around Yves’s shoulders. “Even near-death, you still rock the look.”

The urges to laugh and reprimand battled in Yves’s throat, and he quickly retreated into the scarf before either could win. But the harrowing breaths he swallowed still permeated the fabric, and Leon patted his back as the wind died down around them, soon to be replaced by the maniacal melody of slowly clapping hands.

“Well done! Excellent! I’d originally planned to lure Yves into a pitfall just beyond the bushes, but this worked out just as perfectly!” cackled Clavis. “Why, it was like killing two birds with one stone, so I’d say it’s even more perfect! I’m not even the slightest bit upset that I can’t feel my fingers anymore from digging!”

Yves poked his eyes out from the scarf and watched as Clavis clutched his midsection in crazed laughter. The white coat he wore was nowhere to be seen, possibly blown away in the wind, and it looked to Yves as though the villain had been stripped of his armor. His face suddenly hot, Yves scooped a handful of snow and lobbed it directly into Clavis’s face. 

Stomach hunched over in mid laughter, Clavis froze in place and shook his head in confusion. But before he could clear his face, a second snowball hit him harder than the first, but this time it came from a sniggering Leon.

“If this is the path you’ve chosen, Yves, I’ll follow you to the end,” he said, shaping another ball in his hands. And that morning, Rhodolite awoke to the sight of pillowy whiteness piling on their windowsills and the sounds of the third prince as he was decimated by snowballs across the castle grounds.

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #yves kloss #clavis lelouch #leon dompteur #ikepri yves #ikepri clavis #ikepri leon #scorchie writes #falling ahead series #ikepri fanfiction #ikepri fanfic

[cedar-glade]

What I am up to rn. I am currently doing studying for applicator exam. and treating ash trees for both anthracnose fungus and borer.

Right now im currently doing a bit more fundamental training on application.

Here Is an example of what I am doing at work right now as I actively work on my applicator license. A calculator, a sounding mallet with two different rubber heads of various density,  and dbh tape as well as a drill can be seen. Many different systemics are used for ash tree treatments but treeage as an EC emulsifiable concentrate pressure injectable. EC just means that they are not water soluble liquids, instead they are oil soluble compounds after an emulcifiable agent is added. Instead of beading they became liquid ‘solution’. EC are usually better environmentally, because if a spill does occur they do not readily move with water or penetrate with water and begin breaking down more easily. treeage, by label, is recommended for 2 year usage. so It is 100% active for 2 years. the dye is UV black light notable, meaning even after washing hands and ppe you can see residuals under black light if they are still present.

the label goes by dbh, 4 feet from grade diameter at breast height,  the label also has notes to not mix with water as they do not mix. .5 ml per inch DBH is the measure for usage. Injection wound are to be made deep to get as much transduction as possible through functioning protoplasm not just active xylem and phloem. but require the wound to be made through active phloem and xylem; this is why a sounding mallet is necessary for making the hole. dense acoustic resonance allows us to select and decent relatively intact section of the tree minimally undamaged by the borer over each year; dense solid sounds are critical. Hammering the inlet iv insert till it doesn’t move means you have a good seal for pressure to work. Veritassium has a good youtube video on atm pressures in trees that can help shed light on why pressurized systems are critical for ensuring uptake. Once canisters are pressurized we can use the system. Trees in areas where beneficial insects are present and outside of general sterile landscapes that show signs of resistance shouldn’t be injected unless ethically the tree is critical for spring formation or its a state or nat champ.

Understanding that environment, stress, and host and pathogen activity are critical for pathogens to need treatment is the only ethical reason to pursue treatments. With out all three being present we don’t have an issue necessarily unless the invasive species works under time constraints and alters other corners in their favor(most do) . Evolution is a counter but rarely happens faster than the problem can work to do damage. Larval movement occurs fast! the timing to treat to prevent the most damage starts with leafing out but also pathogen movement. Degree days is usually how most people know when to treat. However climate change can be very problematic in many cases. Ag extensions are there to help ! For Ash trees in my region we start at the beginning of the black locust blooms which shares phonological overlap and try to provide services until after june. so usually mid may- june.

This year saw a wet spring too. which means early anthracnose appearance which forced us to do more propizol injections before ash borer treatments unfortunately.

I currently use a psi by hard wood fjet series arbor jet system. A bucket is also great for containment of spills if a treeage container leaks I have a bucket.

Though the label may not say it, I use nitrile gloves as ppe because fuck insecticides.

#application #botany #label is the law #pathology #plant pathology #ohio #arborist #arboriculture

[fixomnia-scribble]

Ooh, some good news today! In addition to Criminal Procedure and Evidence, I will also be TAing for AQUATIC FREAKING DEATH INVESTIGATIONS. Just one section, but my friend and mentor is teaching it, and we’ve been wanting to work together for ages. It’s become a sold-out course.

(Photo courtesy Hakai Magazine)

Floating feet in shoes, shipwreck, accident, murder and suicide remains recovery efforts, decomposing pickled piggies and more. If anyone’s interested in the work of Aquatic Death Investigations, there are some very cool (but not necessary work- or sensitive-eye-friendly) links under the cut.

Primary research:

“Deep Coastal Marine Taphonomy: Investigation into Carcass Decomposition in the Saanich Inlet, British Columbia Using a Baited Camera”

Interview article:

“What Happens to a Dead Body in the Ocean?”

Media articles:

“This is what happens when a pig decomposes underwater“

“Pig carcass study reveals how bodies decompose underwater”

The Video You Really Want, You Weirdos:

“Caged pig. Forensic experiment in the ocean.“

#death #forensics #forensic science #animal death #aquatic forensics #underwater forensics #pig death #stages of decay #suicide

[pinturas-sgm-aviacion]

1945 02 Rover Patrol - Richard Taylor

After D-Day in June 1944, and the capture of Germany's U-Boat bases in northern France, Hitler ordered his remaining fleet, and particularly his submarines, to bases in Norway. Occupied by the Germans since 1940, the Norwegian fjords, with their narrow inlets and steep mountainous backdrops, offered unique protection; however submarines departing and returning to Norway from their oceanic operations immediately attracted the attention of RAF Coastal Command. Operating from two airfields in northern Scotland were the Banff and Dallachy Strike Wings, their sole purpose was to attack all German shipping along the Norwegian coast, and they fought a bitter and dangerous campaign against Hitler's once mighty submarine fleet. Heavily defended by shore batteries, Flak ships with terrible firepower, and marauding Luftwaffe fighters, the Mosquitos and Beaufighters of Coastal Command came under intense fire during almost every sortie they flew. Powered by two big Merlin engines, fastest of these fighter-bombers was the sleek, all-wood highly manoeuvrable two-seat Mosquito. Armed with four 20mm cannon, four .303 Browning machine guns, and with eight 251b solid armour-piercing rockets, this graceful strike aircraft packed a lethal punch. Typically, sorties began in the dark, with pilots flying loose formation at 50 feet across the North Sea, to arrive over the target area at first light. Then, the ever-present barrage of defensive gunfire as pilots hurtled past sheer cliff faces, twisted and turned through narrow sounds, and dived in pursuit of their prey. Suddenly, from the quiet peace of early dawn, the still air was shattered by the roar of Merlins, rockets, gunfire, and explosions, resounding off mountain sides in a deafening cacophony of battle. And within minutes they were gone, leaving a trail of smoke, twisted metal, and another nail in the coffin of the Third Reich. Richard Taylor's painting presents a fine study of a lone Mosquito FB MkVI of 143 Squadron, part of a larger formation of the Banff Strike Wing, high over the Norwegian fjords on an armed rover patrol to seek out enemy surface shipping and submarines, in February 1945. The beauty of the early morning sun, glinting on the snow-covered mountain-tops, contrasts with the menacing job in hand. Bravery, inordinate flying skills, and determination were a prerequisite for the crews of Coastal Strike Command.

#richard taylor

[usafphantom2]

XB-70 Valkyrie

XB-70 Valkyrie in Cruise Configuration

The No. 1 XB-70A (62-0001) is viewed from above in cruise configuration with the wing tips drooped for improved controllability.

The XB-70 Valkyrie, with a planned cruise speed of Mach 3 and operating altitude of 70,000 feet, was to be the ultimate high-altitude, high-speed manned strategic bomber. Events, however, would cause it to play a far different role in the history of aviation.

To achieve Mach 3 performance, the XB-70 was designed to “ride” its own shock wave, much as a surfer rides an ocean wave. The resulting shape used a delta wing on a slab-sided fuselage that contained the six jet engines that powered the aircraft. The outer wing panels were hinged. During take off, landing, and subsonic flight, they remained in the horizontal position. This feature increased the amount of lift produced, improving the lift-to-drag ratio. Once the aircraft was supersonic, the wing panels would be hinged downward. Changing the position of the wing panels reduced the drag caused by the wingtips interacted with the inlet shock wave. The repositioned wingtips also reduced the area behind the airplane’s center of gravity, which reduced trim drag. The downturned outer panels also provided more vertical surface to improve directional stability at high Mach numbers. Attached to the delta was a long, thin forward fuselage. Behind the cockpit were two large canards, which acted as control surfaces.

XB-70: World's Largest Experimental Aircraft in the 1960s.

The figure standing on the ramp provides a size comparison with the XB-70A aircraft.

As impressive a technological feat as the XB-70 represented, the aircraft was under development at a time when the future of the manned bomber was uncertain. During the late 1950s and early 1960s, many believed that manned aircraft were obsolete, and the future belonged to missiles. As a result, the Kennedy Administration ended plans to deploy the B-70. Two experimental XB-70A prototypes were under construction at North American Aviation when the program was canceled.

At the same time there was growing interest in an American supersonic transport (SST). Jet airliners had cut flight times by more than half in comparison to propeller-powered aircraft. A Mach 2 or 3 SST would make a similar improvement over the new subsonic jet airliners. The Flight Research Center (FRC-now the Armstrong Flight Research Center, Edwards, CA.) had several SST studies underway during the early 1960s. NASA’s Douglas F5D-1 was used for landing studies, a North American F-100C was modified to simulate SST handling qualities, a North American A-5A was used to simulate an SST for tests of the air traffic control system, and a Lockheed JetStar was modified as an in-flight SST simulator.

On the Ramp: XB-70

The XB-70A is shown parked on a ramp at Edwards, California, in 1967.

The XB-70 Valkyrie seemed to be a perfect testbed for SST research. It was the same size as the projected SST designs, and used similar structural materials, such as brazed stainless steel honeycomb and titanium. Thus, the XB-70A’s role changed from a manned bomber prototype to one of the most remarkable research aircraft ever flown.

The XB-70A number 1 (62-001) made its first flight from Palmdale to Edwards Air Force Base, CA, on Sept. 21, 1964. Tests of the XB-70’s airworthiness occurred throughout 1964 and 1965 by North American and Air Force test pilots. The Flight Research Center prepared its instrument package. Although intended to cruise at Mach 3, the first XB-70 was found to have poor directional stability above Mach 2.5, and only made a single flight above Mach 3. Despite the problems, the early flights provided data on a number of issues facing SST designers. These included aircraft noise, operational problems, control system design, comparison of wind tunnel predictions with actual flight data, and high-altitude, clear-air turbulence.

NASA Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA, wind-tunnel studies led engineers at North American Aviation in Downey, CA, to build the second XB-70A (62-207) with an added 5 degrees of dihedral on the wings. This aircraft made its first flight on July 17, 1965. The changes resulted in much better handling, and the second XB-70 achieved Mach 3 for the first time on Jan. 3, 1966. The aircraft made a total of nine Mach 3 flights by June.

At the same time, a joint agreement was signed between NASA and the Air Force to use the second XB-70A prototype for high-speed research flights in support of the SST program, selected due to its better aerodynamics, inlet controls, and a much superior instrument package, compared to the first aircraft. The NASA research flights were to begin in mid-June, once the North American Aviation Phase I tests of the vehicle’s airworthiness were completed. NASA research pilot Joe Walker was selected as the project pilot. The flights were to evaluate the aircraft on typical SST flight profiles, and to study the problems of sonic booms on overland flights.

These plans went awry on June 8, 1966, when the second XB-70 crashed following a midair collision with NASA’s F-104N chase plane. Joe Walker, F-104N pilot, died in the accident. North American test pilot Al White ejected from the XB-70 in his escape capsule, but received serious injuries in the process. Co-pilot Maj. Carl Cross, who was making his first flight in the XB-70, was unable to eject and died in the crash.

The deaths of Walker and Cross, and the destruction of the second XB-70 had major consequences for the research program. The second XB-70 had been selected for the Phase II tests, which were to be conducted jointly by NASA and the Air Force. With this aircraft now destroyed, only the first aircraft was available. Given the aircraft’s shortcomings, the Air Force began to doubt that it would be able to meet the Phase II test goals.

The first XB-70 was undergoing maintenance and modifications at the time of the accident to its sister ship. It did not fly again until Nov. 3, 1966. Col. Joe Cotton piloted it, while NASA research pilot Fitzhugh Fulton served as co-pilot. The flight reached a top speed of Mach 2.1. Between November 1966 and the end of January 1967, a total of 11 joint Air Force/NASA research flights occurred. Cotton, Fulton, and Van H. Shepard of North American Aviation were crewmen on these flights. A top speed of Mach 2.57 was the highest attained during the remainder of the XB-70 program.

These flights were made as part of the National Sonic Boom Program. The XB-70 flew at differing altitudes, Mach numbers, and weights over an instrumented test range at Edwards. The “boom carpet” area was determined and the overpressure measured on two specially constructed housing units. The tests showed that a large aircraft, such as the XB-70 or the projected SST, could generate overpressures high enough to cause damage. Moreover, when the XB-70 made a turn, its shock waves converged, and often doubled the overpressure on the ground.

Following these tests, the XB-70 was grounded for maintenance that lasted 2 1/2 months. The Air Force had concluded by that point that the XB-70 program should be turned over to NASA as soon as possible. FRC director Paul Bikle and Air Force Flight Test Center (AFFTC) commander Maj. Gen. Hugh Manson created a joint FRC/AFFTC XB-70 operating committee on March 15, 1967. This was patterned on similar committees established for the X-15 and lifting bodies. The NASA XB-70 program continued to receive Air Force assistance, in terms of aircraft support and Air Force test pilots.

The first NASA XB-70 flight occurred on April 25, 1967, by Fulton and Cotton. By the end of March 1968, another 12 research flights had been completed. The pilots included Fulton, Cotton, and Shepard, as well as Lt. Col. Emil Sturmthal and NASA research pilot Don Mallick. The flights acquired data to correlate with an Ames ground-based SST simulator and the JetStar in-flight SST simulator at FRC. Other XB-70 research goals were to measure its structural response to turbulence; determine the aircraft’s handling qualities during landings; and investigate boundary layer noise, inlet performance, and structural dynamics, including fuselage bending and canard flight loads.

The XB-70 underwent modifications after a final flight on March 21, 1968. During research flights, the XB-70 pilots had frequently experienced trim changes and buffeting during high-speed, high-altitude flights. These resulted from clear-air turbulence and rapidly changing atmospheric temperatures. For a specialized research aircraft, these characteristics were little more than annoying; on a commercial SST, however, they would be uncomfortable for the passengers, increase the pilots’ workload, and shorten the structural fatigue life of the SST.

XB-70A Rolls Out After Landing

The XB-70A No. 1 is shown rolling out after landing, employing drag chutes to slow down.

The XB-70 was fitted with two small vanes for the Identically Located Acceleration and Force (ILAF) experiment. The vanes rotated 12 degrees at a rate of up to 8 cycles per second. This induced a structural vibration in the XB-70 at a known frequency and amplitude. The XB-70’s accelerometers detected the disturbances, then signaled the aircraft’s stability augmentation system to damp out the motion. When XB-70 research flights resumed on June 11, 1968, the ILAF proved its ability to reduce the effects of turbulence and atmospheric temperature changes.

Despite the accomplishments of the XB-70, time was running out for the research program. NASA had reached an agreement with the Air Force to fly research missions with a pair of YF-12As and a “YF-12C,” which was actually an SR-71. These represented a far more advanced technology than that of the XB-70. In all, the two XB-70s had logged 1 hour and 48 minutes of Mach 3 flight time. A YF-12 could log this much Mach 3 time in a single flight.

The final XB-70 research flight occurred on Feb. 4, 1969. Fulton and Sturmthal made a subsonic structural dynamics test and ferry flight. The XB-70 took off from Edwards and flew to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, OH, where the aircraft was put on display at the Air Force Museum. The first XB-70 made 83 flights totaling 160 hours and 16 minutes, while the second XB-70 logged 46 flights in its brief life, totaling 92 hours and 22 minutes.

@kadonkey via X